The Color Green
by Destiny JoRayne Adams
Summary: What exactly does the color green, an ex con and an FBI agent have in common?


_A/N: Thank you to SherlockXHolmes23 for the wonderful beta, and to my mom for all the support and love that she's given me all these years. Written for the collarcorner fic exchange. All characters belong to their respective owners, I own nothing. _

_Inspiration was drawn from sholio's fic "Spontaneous" which can be found on her livejournal. If you haven't read it yet, seriously, it's an awesome read! _

-000-

Peter quickly unlocked his house, feeling the cold seep through his coat into his bones. Winter in New York could be brutal at times. He shut the door quietly, knowing that Elizabeth was asleep and Peter didn't want to disturb her.

It had been a long day. His team had been assigned to the theft of a German figurine that was worth more than three million dollars. At this point, Peter doubted that it was even still in the country, and once it left American soil, it was out of their hands.

Peter sighed as he took off his jacket, exhaustion dogging his movements. Despite that, he felt too restless to sleep. He lowered himself onto the couch and grabbed the remote. He made sure the TV was on low, still mindful of Elizabeth.

It wasn't until he was halfway through a basketball game did he noticed the small box that was sitting on the table. He reached over and grabbed it, and glanced at the top of the box. His name and address, but no return address, and the postmark was from France. He turned the box over, and then reached into his pocket for his knife.

When he finished opening the box, he peeled back the lid and saw that nestled in tissue paper was the little figurine that his team had been spending two weeks trying to recover. There was a green post-it-note stuck to the top that simply read: _I heard you were looking for this. _It wasn't signed, but Peter knew who it was from.

He didn't know how or why Caffrey did it, but now that the figurine was back in the country, he could wrap up his case and return the artifact to its owners.

It was the first time he realized that there was more to Neal Caffrey than he realized, and he became more determined to piece this particular puzzle together.

-000-

Peter swiveled his chair away from his computer to face the window. The FBI office wasn't known for its view, but he knew that if he didn't take a break from that stupid screen, the pounding in his head would become merciless.

He stood to stretch the kinks out of his back as he watched the busy street below. It had taken him awhile to get used to living in New York City. The town he had grown up in certainly couldn't be considered small, but it was nothing compared to the Big Apple. At first, the amount of people had been unsettling; the constant noise had made it difficult to get a decent night's rest. But with everything else in life, he had adjusted, and now he barely thought about it.

Something suddenly caught his eye on the street. _Is that…? _ And he was suddenly all but running toward the elevators. Diana was at the bottom of the stairs and started to open her mouth, but Peter didn't wait. He could have sworn that he had seen him.

He had been right. _Hi! _was written on a piece of paper in big green letters and taped to a parking meter right outside the FBI building. Peter barely acknowledged Diana coming out of the office as he scanned the street. He thought he saw a flash of a big grin and long brown hair before it was gone, but he wasn't completely sure. But he knew he was too late. Neal had been here, but now he was gone, along with another chance to get him behind bars.

The tiny feeling of relief in the bottom of his gut was easily ignored.

-000-

The next one was a green package and Peter immediately knew who it was from. He resisted the urge to throw it across the room. He didn't know Caffrey's motive behind his little gifts, but it was started to get on his nerves. He tossed it on his desk and sat down and stared at it as he tried to decide what to do.

Caffrey was good, and he knew it. If Peter was lucky enough to catch a trail, it was never long before it went cold. Caffrey knew how to cover his tracks, and yet it was like he couldn't resist popping up on the FBI's radar. When Peter had first been given the case, he had expected Caffrey to keep a low profile, but he never did. He seemed to view this whole thing as a game and it was almost like he was inviting Peter to join the fun. Peter hated the game; he just wanted to do his job. And unfortunately, Caffrey was his job.

He finally gave up. He grabbed a tissue and carefully opened the package. He had no doubt that he would have to personally deliver to forensics for them to look over and he also knew that they wouldn't find anything. And in the off chance they did, it wouldn't lead them anywhere, it would just be part of the game.

The envelope contained a painting, one of the best Peter had ever seen. It featured a girl, who was sitting on the edge of a pond with a little sailboat. The artist had obviously paid very careful attention to detail, the colors muted, but perfectly blended. _What is this worth? _He wondered. _Where did Caffrey steal this from? _

Peter immediately had Diana run the painting against the Bureau's database. To his surprise, the painting was not registered in the system. Once Diana delivered her report, Peter had Jones log the painting as evidence and it was placed in an evidence locker to collect dust. Peter never forgot about it.

-000-

Peter had mixed feelings about his birthday; he loved spending the day with El, but he began to dread turning a year older. But today had been perfect, starting with the surprise party his team had thrown for him, to the romantic dinner that he had shared with Elizabeth at one of the prestigious restaurants in New York. How El got those reservations, he'd probably never know.

He grabbed a beer and sank into the couch with a relaxed sigh. It was times like these when he remembered how much he had to be thankful for. A job that he loved, a beautiful wife that he didn't know how he'd do without, a good team of friends and co-workers that he could rely on. Yeah, life was good.

Elizabeth came bustling in from the kitchen and set a small dish of ice cream on the coffee table. "Here you go, honey. Oh, and this came for you in the mail today," she handed him a green envelope. He took it, already knowing what it was.

He had received birthday cards from Caffrey for three years now, ever since he had begun his four year prison sentence. Peter didn't know why, but he had learned that he would never understand how Caffrey's mind worked, and truth be told, he wasn't sure that he wanted to.

_Hoping your birthday is filled with love and happiness _was pre-worded on the inside with only a small postscript under it: "_I hope you're not too bored with your mouse locked up." _It was unsigned, with a small, but elaborate smiley face drawn in the corner.

-000-

When Peter finally shut down his computer for the night and locked his office, he breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a long day and all he wanted to do was go home and spend time with Elizabeth and his dog.

As he passed Neal's desk he glanced down and stopped. Neal's cell phone lay by the computer; he must have forgotten it when he had left. Peter sighed, and considered leaving it there for Neal to get in the morning, but finally picked up the bright green device and slipped it into his pocket. Neal's place wasn't that far out of his way.

Fifteen minutes later, he was climbing the stairs to Neal's apartment. As he knocked, he glanced at his watch, and winced at the lateness of the hour, even though the light seeping under the door told him that Neal hadn't retired for the night.

Neal opened the door, and smiled when he saw that it was Peter. "Hey, what are you doing here?" he asked as he opened to door to let Peter in.

Peter held up Neal's cell for him to take. "You left this on your desk, so I thought I would bring it over on my way home."

"Oh," Neal accepted the phone, and then plugged it in to charge. "I didn't even miss it. Thanks for bring it by. You want anything to drink?"

Peter shook his head, "No, I should really be getting home to El."

Neal glanced at the clock above the bed, "It's too late for supper, and I was about to order Chinese. Call Elizabeth and let her know where you are."

Peter hesitated, not wanting to delay his arrival home but knew that El would understand – heck, she would encourage it. "Yeah, okay."

It wasn't until after he made the phone call to Elizabeth and they had sat down at the table with their boxed Chinese did Peter notice a painting that still stood on its easel sitting near the balcony door. "Is that a Neal Caffrey original?"

Neal followed Peter's gaze and scoffed lightly. "Come on, Peter, when have you ever known me to paint my own works?" he lied. But Peter caught it.

"It is, isn't it?" He got up to get a closer look. "Neal, this is—" Peter shook his head. "This is amazing!"

Neal colored slightly and for some reason Peter found that humorous. He chuckled as he walked back to the table and sat down. "Usually you are so cocky—"

"Confident," Neal interjected.

"—but when it comes to your own work, you get flustered. That's interesting."

"Be quiet." The banter relaxed muscles that Neal didn't even know were tense. It had been a long couple of days, but they had caught a world-renowned smuggler the day before, today had been spent wrapping up paperwork, and Neal was thankful that the case was over.

It wasn't until they had finished eating and had settled in front of a football game with wine that Peter spoke up. "How did you get into art, Neal?"

Neal had never really shared anything about his past and Peter didn't know anything beyond what was in his file. And Peter had to admit he was curious; there were so many unanswered questions about his partner. Where was Neal from? Did he have any siblings? What caused him to live the life he did?

Neal grinned, "I don't know, maybe it was the same way you got into the harmonica."

Peter gaped at him. "How did you know about that?" Neal was good, but how in the world was he that good? Peter had done everything he could to cover that up, _Diana_ didn't even know about that.

Neal shook his head, "Like I'd ever tell you, but I've got my sources."

"Elizabeth."

Neal just grinned and raised his glass to a toast. "Seriously Peter, what made you want to play-oh, I'm sorry-attempt to play the harmonica anyway? Why couldn't you play something interesting, like the saxophone?"

Peter shook his head ruefully. "That was before El and I got married and she had mentioned on one of our dates that she enjoyed the harmonica. I decided I was going to learn to play it for her."

"Attempt to play it," Neal corrected. "I don't know Peter. I'm almost embarrassed for you."

"Shut up."

They sat in companionable silence for a while. Peter had half his attention focused on the game, but he noticed that Neal's gaze barely lifted for his glass in his hands. It was almost as if something was bothering him, and Peter knew that pushing it would get him nowhere, so he waited, hoping Neal would speak up.

He had to admit that the last few months had been interesting and even fun working alongside Neal. Peer was having trouble remembering how it was before when Neal was still in prison. He brought a fresh and new enthusiasm to the office, and the knowledge he had about white collar crimes was unbeatable.

But Peter knew that it wasn't all that. He had come to appreciate Neal simply for his company. There was a lot that Peter had never realized about Neal. He was loyal to those he cared about. And he was sensitive under all that charm, he never ever wanted to hurt anyone. Even when Peter was chasing him, there had been no hint of violence; it had just looked like a talented artist and too much time and good looks on his hands.

But Neal was so much for than that, he had layers that Peter was only beginning to peel back to get a glimpse at what they were protecting.

"I was six, I think."

Peter turned his attention back to Neal, "What?"

Neal coughed, and he still refused to lift his gaze from his hands, "I think I was six that first time that I drew anything."

It was so unlike Neal, so be so hesitant and quiet. But Peter didn't say anything, just waited for him to continue.

"I wanted to draw the big space that I saw every time I looked as far as I could. I wanted to draw the horizons. So I went to the kitchen and took the small notepad that my mom kept on the refrigerator to keep track of groceries. I remember sitting on the front steps of my house, it must have been late fall or something because it was cold and I started mapping out what I saw in front of me." He laughed. "I actually remember getting really angry because what I was drawing didn't match what I was seeing, and I finally crumbled it up and threw it in the trash. When my mom found it later, she recognized how good it was and never stopped encouraging me to draw since then."

Neal fell silent after that and Peter knew that that was all he would ever say on the subject. Neal didn't talk about his past very often. But the more that he discovered about Neal, the more his respect for him grew.

-000-

"They are green."

"Wow," Neal's tone was deadpan. "How observant you are, Peter." He reached for the small rectangular box that the agent held, but Peter moved it out before it could grab it.

"Why is it green, Neal?" Peter asked. "I ordered these business cards for you and I know that I didn't order them in green."

Neal just smirked, "Well, I guess you made a mistake." He tried to grab them again, but Peter still wasn't giving them up.

The very idea of having a business card seemed to excite Neal to no end. Peter had been the one to bring up the idea, and he was almost sorry he did, because Neal hadn't shut up about it since. Peter had personally ordered them himself, not wanting Neal to make them different than everybody else in the Bureau. But apparently Neal had found a way to anyway to make them green.

Peter finally gave up and handed the box over. From then on, Neal gave out his business card whenever he had a chance, always sending a smirk Peter's way as the green card changed hands.

-000-

_Neal is safe._

Peter had to consistently remind himself of the fact. He had imagined the worst ever since he had found out the deal that Rice had made with Wilkes.

He had never stopped to consider how he actually thought about working with Neal. Peter had seen Neal has a benefit to the Bureau, an asset to be used to achieve the greater good. Of course, he had enjoyed working with Neal and had even become friends with Neal, but he had never actually stop to think about it. That is, until the possibility of his new partner being hurt.

Peter fingered the anklet in his hands. Something caught his eye and he peered at it closer. He shook his head and chuckled. It appeared that Neal had taken a bright green marker and had drawn a small tree on the strong plastic, barely visible against the black.

The same anklet that Neal had slipped, and Peter's smile faded. He knew that Neal was meeting with Alex and they were planning something to do with the music box. He didn't know what they were planning, but Neal believed that the music box was the key that would lead him to Kate. Peter knew that Neal would not stop until he found the answers he was looking for. Peter wished he would just give it up; he had a life here, he had a chance to make something of his life and Peter didn't want to see him throw it all away.

But deep down inside, Peter understood. If he was in Neal's shoes, not knowing where Elizabeth was, he'd do everything in his power to find him. He wouldn't think of the consequences, because it was Elizabeth and she was more important than anything.

But Peter knew that Elizabeth loved him, had ten years of marriage to back him up. There was something off about Kate, about this whole thing. Peter couldn't shake the feeling that something else was going on, something that Neal would never acknowledge, that Kate was somehow involved with Fowler. Peter didn't want to believe because he knew that it was devastate Neal, but it just didn't add up.

Peter pushed all those thoughts away, tonight he was just glad that Neal was okay. It could have been the other way around; things could have gone wrong and he could be facing Neal's death. And even though they hadn't worked together for that long, Peter wasn't sure how he would handle that.

But Neal was okay, he was safe and anything else he could deal with.

-000-

"Why always green?"

They were sitting in the car on a stakeout. Peter grabbed the first topic that came to mind because he was fully aware that if he didn't keep Neal occupied; his sanity would go out the window.

"What? Did you start this conversation without me, Peter?" Neal laughed.

"Before I caught you, and while you were in prison, every message you left me, or package or card you sent always was green. Why?"

Neal smiled. "Aw, just admit it, you used to wait for those, didn't you?"

"I did not," Peter replied shortly. "Most of the time, I didn't even think about you, Caffrey. You weren't my only case you know."

"Ah-huh," Neal's tone was dry, "You thought about me."

"No I didn't," Peter quickly rejoined. "But seriously, why green? Is that your favorite color or something?"

"It's a secret," Neal said in a faux whisper. "You'll never know." If Neal sent that fake grin in his direction one more time, Peter was liable to do something he'd regret.

But he didn't, just turned to stare at his partner. He knew that Neal hated it and hopefully it would make him crack.

He held out for a while, but finally threw up his hands. "Okay, okay." Neal picked up his can of soda and took a sip. "There wasn't really any reason for using green."

"Oh, come on, Neal. Tell the truth."

"That is that truth. That's the thing about you, Peter. You are so rigid, so predictable; you never go out and do something completely random. The green, that was completely random."

Peter stared at him for a moment, then he looked away and slouched in his seat, turning his eyes back to the suspect's house. "I am not predictable." Peter muttered.

"Oh, you so are."

"I am not!"

"You ate breakfast this morning at exactly seven o' clock and you had Raisin Bran with skim milk and a glass of apple juice."

"How did you—" Peter sputtered, before finally settling on glaring. "I should be able to eat breakfast without worrying that my CI is peering into my windows to see what I ate for breakfast."

But Peter had a deep sense of contentment. Here he was at three in the morning, trapped in a car on a stakeout with his partner who sometimes reminded him of a hyperactive three year old, and yet there was no other place he'd rather be.

_Yeah, _Peter thought as he leaned his head against the back of the seat. _Life is good. _

_-3,453_


End file.
